The following days saw Easy Company under near-constant fire. German heavy artillery and aircraft fire rained down on them at all hours of the day as they worked to defend the town of Veghel. Posey, curled up tightly in her foxhole with Bill, was reminded starkly of the Blitz and running to the bomb shelter in her old garden for cover. This time, however, there was no bomb shelter, there was only the hole she'd helped to dig in the ground and whatever semblance of safety Bill could offer her when the ground around them was torn apart.
Posey listened to the town's civilians shriek and wail and pray, and knew exactly how they were feeling. It was heart-wrenching to listen to someone else's home get destroyed in the same way hers had, as though because she'd escaped the collapse of her own home she was now being forced to experience what it would've been like through someone else's eyes.
Easy, camped out in their foxholes, were not without their own casualties. Under such an intense barrage, escaping entirely unscathed would have been a miracle. A great many of their men had been wounded and taken to the nearest field hospital, and a few replacements had been killed, too. After Market Garden they really couldn't afford any more losses but the war did to them what it was wont to do, and that was take. In Posey's experience, war could be counted upon to do one thing perfectly: ask everything of you, everything, even when you had nothing to give in the first place.
When backup came and a counterattack could be staged, Easy was finally relieved. The entire 101st was put under the command of the British XII Corps, which didn't bode well after all that had transpired the last time they were under British command, but the Brits were even harder pressed for troops than the Americans were after Market Garden. The division was transferred somewhere north of the front line in Holland to an area called the Island.
With First Battalion in reserve and all of the casualties sustained since being in Holland, the line was spread immensely thin. So thin that foxholes were dug connecting to one another and to the outposts, all of which had been set up strategically in areas deemed most likely to be infiltrated by the Germans. Their positions were harshly reminiscent of the trenches of the Great War. They made Posey think, albeit reluctantly, of her father, who had been a soldier in those trenches. She wondered what he'd say if he knew his daughter was currently sat in one, clutching her sniper rifle as close to her chest as her teddy bear.
Her foxhole buddy - or trench buddy, as it were - for the evening was one Edward Heffron. The pair of them were on watch, gazing out across the stretch of field that, she supposed, served as their own makeshift no man's land as the light of day faded around them.
They sat in a companionable silence and had done for a while, their eyes on the horizon and concentrated on picking out enemy activity. Heffron's elbow nudged her side as he dug a hand into one of his pockets. Posey knew what he was about to ask even before he'd drawn the pack out.
"I don't smoke," she told him softly, just as he opened his mouth to offer. When she glanced over, his eyebrows were raised, likely surprised at how easily she'd predicted his next words. "Thank you, though."
"You don't smoke, huh?" Heffron repeated, the makings of a grin on his face. Posey rolled her eyes good-naturedly and turned back to watch the line. "Not even after spendin' a night stranded surrounded by krauts?"
Posey chuckled softly under her breath, giving a small shake of her head that made her helmet rattle. "Nope. Not even then." She spared a second glance over at him and shrugged one shoulder. "I have my reasons."
"Yeah?" Heffron challenged. "What are they?"
"Hm..." Posey hummed, pretending to consider the question. Her eyes wandered skyward, taking in the blue as it slowly crept into the pale orange of evening. "I'm not sure we're there yet, Heffron."
"What?" he asked, his tone filled with exaggerated offence. "I thought we were friends!"
Posey grinned, turning her eyes back on the line. "We are friends. We're just not quite there yet, you know?"
"No, I don't."
Posey laughed at his deadpan. "Not quite friends enough that I can tell you all my secrets," she explained.
"Does Bill know?" Heffron demanded. Posey could feel his eyes on the side of her face.
"Why I don't smoke?" she clarified casually.
"Yeah."
"Not sure." She shrugged, drumming her fingers on her rifle. "He might do. Johnny definitely knows - I remember telling him back in Carentan." She could definitely recall telling Johnny about how she'd been brought up as a proper lady, having attended a very expensive finishing school and having it drilled into her that she was not to smoke unless she should ever find herself widowed.
"What about Bull? Does he know?"
Posey found Heffron's intrigue about something so trivial, his desperation to be let into the inner workings of her life, endearing, which was the only reason she continued to indulge him with responses. "Bull and I are closer now than we've ever been because of what happened in Nuenen. We've always been friends but we've definitely not always been so close. So no, he doesn't. Not that I think he'd care, particularly." When Heffron went to speak she shot him a glance. "Heffron, are you watching the line?"
"'Course I am," came his immediately reply, even though she knew he hadn't been. She laughed and shook her head at him.
After a few moments' silence, he spoke up again. "Hey, lets play a game." At the sceptical look Posey levelled him with, he explained, "To get to know each other better."
"Who says I want to get to know you better?"
Heffron scowled. "Duckie."
He was just so fun to irritate.
"How does the game work?" she relented, burying her grin in her collar and turning back to the line.
"I ask you a question and you answer, then you ask me a question and I answer, and on and on. Just stupid stuff, whatever you wanna know."
"That's not a game, that's a conversation."
"Why can't it be both?" Heffron replied. "Talkin' can be fun, if it's with the right person."
Posey grinned, her eyes sweeping across no man's land. "I'm flattered, Heffron, truly." She knew he'd meant himself.
"You should be." She could hear him grinning as he spoke. "I'll go first. What's your least favourite colour?"
"Orange," Posey replied immediately. She offered no explanation. "What's yours?"
"You can't do that! That was my question!" Heffron protested.
"You said I could ask whatever I wanted!"
"Yeah, but it's gotta be original -"
"Fine!" Under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear, she mumbled, "Didn't realise I was playing a game with a dictator." When he laughed, she grinned. "Do you have any pets?"
"Nah. Always wanted a dog though."
"Me too!" Posey replied. "Well, I had one once but he died and we never got another. His name was Floyd, like Tab."
"What breed?"
"Scottie dog. He was very handsome, unlike Tab, but definitely had the same knack for getting into trouble." She was smiling just thinking about it; she'd loved that dog. "Anyway!" She shook her head once to clear it of all lingering childhood memories. "That was two questions, so now I get two!"
"Who's the dictator now?" Heffron retorted.
Posey laughed but got straight to it. "I would like to know..." She trailed off, searching for the perfect question. "Oh! What's your favourite place you've ever been?"
"Philly. Next?"
"Really?" Posey searched his face, or rather, what she could see of it in profile, but nothing about his countenance hinted that he was lying. "What is it about Philly that makes you and Bill love it so much?"
"Is that your next question?" Heffron asked, smirking.
Posey huffed, but she was laughing. "No. My next question is: how many siblings do you have?"
"Four. Three brothers and one sister," he answered dutifully.
Posey gaped. "You have four siblings?"
Heffron nodded. "Yeah. How many do you have?"
"One."
"Brother or sister?"
"Brother. He's a fighter pilot." Posey shut her eyes tightly a moment before letting out a silent sigh. "Was a fighter pilot. He's wounded."
"He older or younger than you?" Heffron continued to probe.
"Older," she replied, "but everyone's older than me. Even you're older than me."
"What do you mean 'even' me?!" exclaimed Heffron jovially. Posey laughed.
Before she could say anything about the fact he'd just asked her about a dozen more questions than he was meant to and that he therefore owed her a fair few answers of his own, footsteps coming from behind them halted the conversation in place.
"You two havin' fun?" Perco asked sarcastically, speaking around the toothbrush in his mouth.
"Perco, you brush those teeth any more and they'll fall out of your head," Posey replied instead of humouring him with an answer.
"Not that you'd know," he fired back without missing a beat. "You're off duty. We're relievin' you," he went on to inform them, sounding about as pleased about it as they'd all been when finding out about Operation Market Garden.
"How kind of you," Posey replied, getting to her feet and climbing out of the trench.
"Yeah, thanks, Perco," Heffron added, a mere half-second behind her. "Soboleski." He inclined his head to his fellow replacement.
Posey shot Perco and Soboleski each a smile. "Have fun, fellas." With that, she shouldered her rifle and was off, heading towards the barn set up as the CP knowing that was the place she was most likely to find food; her K-Ration supply was dwindling these days and her chocolate rations had long since disappeared.
"Not a fan of those fuckin' trenches," Heffron mumbled as they began their trek.
Posey couldn't help but laugh. "Said every solider of the last war." She shot him the whisper of a grin. "Just be glad we don't have to live in them permanently like our predecessors did." She thought of her father and then, strangely, her mind wandered to Mrs. McGavigan, the woman she'd met in Aldbourne whose husband had been killed on the front lines of the Great War. One day, she thought, people would talk about this war, their war, the same way she thought about the last one; with reverence for the troops and a sense of relief that they hadn't had to experience it themselves.
It was a lonely thought to think that, should she survive the war, she'd never be able to talk about her experience of it. As a woman, no one would be able to know she'd experienced combat on the front lines. As a British woman, no one would be able to know she'd fought with the 101st Airborne and how proud she was of that, how proud she was to wear the patch of the Screaming Eagles on her bicep and the jump wings she'd worked so hard to win. Her war would be kept secret, locked away in the back of her mind in a place no one else would ever reach it. There would be no medals handed down to her children or streets named in her honour, no mention of her exploits in history books or photos her great great-grandchildren would be able to pick her out in. She'd simply have to go home and pick up the pieces of the life that had been stolen from her, try to stick them back together again and make the prettiest picture she could of what was left. That, or she'd have to start entirely anew. Either way, once her war ended that would be it, and she would be Duckie no more.
Once Posey and Heffron had entered the CP, Posey set to scrounging for rations immediately. She didn't pay attention where Heffron went off to. Instead, she removed her helmet and let it hang by her side - for the sake of her vision more than anything else, considering how dark it was inside in the absence of windows - and set her gun down so she could rifle around in the hay. She couldn't have been more than a minute into her search before George called out to her from the opposite side of the barn. "What you lookin' for, Duckie?"
"Rations," she called back without turning her head.
"Oh, they ain't over there anymore," George said. When Posey turned, he was fiddling with his radio over with Winters and Tab. "Tab's dog kept trying to eat 'em."
"Tab's got a dog?!" Posey was on her feet and approaching immediately. When she got close she found that Tab, indeed, did have a dog. "No way! What's his name? Where'd you find him?"
"Named him Trigger. Found him out on patrol this morning."
"Trigger," Posey repeated, smiling softly as she crouched and allowed the dog to come to her. "That's cool. I like it." When Trigger came to sit between her and George she combed her fingers through his hair, smiling fondly as he panted. The conversation taking place around her washed over her like a wave as she allowed herself to find comfort in the dog. Bringing animals into war was something truly horrible, but for now they were safe and she knew Tab would take good care of him.
An idea struck her suddenly and she turned to face the opposite side of the barn. "Hey, Heffron -" she began to call out, recalling their brief conversation about dogs. She was cut off, however, when the door to the barn slammed open.
"We got penetration!"
"Alley's hurt, we need the doc!"
All of them were on their feet immediately.
"Alright, get him on the table," Winters ordered, his voice ever calm in the midst of chaos.
Posey helped Tab and George to clear the table in the centre of the room, sweeping everything that had been on there onto the floor. Voices began talking over one another, getting louder and louder in the fight for dominance. In the corner where she'd left him, Trigger was barking.
"Alley, you're gonna be okay," George reassured him as Liebgott and Lesniewski laid him on the table. Posey gasped when she caught sight of him; covered in crimson, it seemed as though he was bleeding all over.
"Boyle, get Doc Roe," Winters commanded, his hands already working to rip open Alley's ODs to assess the damage.
"Where am I?" Alley asked, sounding dazed and completely out of it. "What happened?"
Posey did all she could think of to comfort him and grabbed his hand. She clasped it with both of hers and told him, "You're in the CP, you're gonna be just fine." She only knew one of those things to be true, but if she could be certain of anything at this point in her life it was that there was a time and a place for honesty, and this wasn't it.
"Where was it?" Winters asked, directing the question at the others who'd been on patrol with Alley. Patrols had been being sent out regularly ever since they'd gotten to the Island - they had to keep a vigilant eye on the Germans lest they find themselves completely surrounded. All of the patrols Posey had been on had been thoroughly uneventful thus far. The tide was turning, it seemed, and not in their favour.
"Crossroads," responded Liebgott promptly, unwrapping a bandage and pressing it against his bleeding neck. "Where the road crosses the dyke."
"If it wasn't for your loud mouth they'd'a never known we was there!" Lesniewski accused, his eyes blazing where he looked at Liebgott.
"Hey, you know what, Joe? Back off," growled Lieb in response.
Posey ducked her eyes and focused her attention on the disorientated Alley. Arguments were the last thing they needed right now.
"Lesniewski! Send a runner for Lieutenant Welsh!" Winters ordered, effectively cutting the tiff short. "Lipton, assemble me a squad."
"Yes, sir," Lipton answered before turning to the room at large. "First Squad, on your feet!" he bellowed, his tone leaving no room for messing around. "Weapons and ammo only. Lets move! Lets go, lets go!"
Just as First Platoon's First Squad began to move out, Doc Roe came hurrying in. "Give me room!" He skidded to a stop beside the table, already dishing out orders. "Get the boots off, elevate the leg. Liebgott, use the sulfa - not too much."
Posey let go of Alley's hand only to carry out Roe's orders, helping to remove Alley's boots as gently as she was able. The door to the barn slammed shut, leaving them in near total silence. Only a few stragglers remained behind, all of whom had gone silent in the wake of the sudden bedlam.
Roe checked over Alley's face, looking into his eyes presumably to check for pupil dilation. As he did so he greeted, "Hey, Alley," softly, which made Posey want to smile. Roe was a good medic. She knew they were lucky to have him.
As soon as Roe had done all he could to stabilise Alley, a jeep was called over Perco's radio and the pair of them were off towards the aid station. When the barn door closed behind them, Posey slumped against a stack of hay and allowed herself to breathe.
Trigger came over to her a little while later, having been left in the dust in the wake of the squad leaving and taking Winters, Tab, and George with them. He lay down beside Posey and rested his head in her lap, likely seeking comfort. Posey managed a tiny smile as she obliged him, tangling her fingers in his fur and finding comfort in the action herself.